


Predator and Prey

by Pyre_Prism



Series: Five Nights at Freddy's: Unfading [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: 'Older Brother' is Vincent Afton, Gen, at least mostly canon-compliant, headcanon-reliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-07 13:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21459106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyre_Prism/pseuds/Pyre_Prism
Summary: 'The team had found the old animatronic in one of the abandoned Freddy Fazbear's Pizza locations, hidden away behind a false wall. For some reason, the robot miraculously was in working order and appeared to possess some form of rechargeable power-source. Upon bringing the animatronic back to Fazbear's Fright, they tried to clean it up a bit, but ultimately gave up when the sporadic twitching it was doing grew too violent. Management has been advised and a service request has been lodged.'---This story is a continuation and expansion of the scenario presented in the oneshot titled 'Predator and Prey' in 'Water of the Womb, Blood of the Covenant', and could also be considered a continuation of the story 'Amárantos' as well.
Series: Five Nights at Freddy's: Unfading [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545859
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, this chapter was included in the anthology ‘Water of the Womb, Blood of the Covenant’. There are some… very deliberate spelling errors in this story. How I write the speech of one of the characters in this is done to imply how it’s supposed to sound…

Very few things could scare him anymore… which is something that he occasionally regretted. With long nights spent scouring old research notes and pouring over faded blueprints, let alone tracking down every piece of the gruesome legacy of Fazbear Entertainment, Vincent Afton rarely had any free time to spare for such small details as holding down a job.

Even he needed to eat, though, and while he could survive on limited resources, he couldn’t conjure up food.

It had been a relief, then, when someone reached out to him; the younger brother of an old friend from his high school days had found out about his family’s connection to the Freddy Fazbear franchise and had offered him a job –security detail for Fazbear’s Fright, an upcoming ‘celebration’ of the brand’s past.

A history of missing kids and corpse-stench on the mascot animatronics could spawn veritable urban legends, if left to fester long enough, it seemed…

With nothing better to choose from, and already having interest in the horror attraction, Vincent had accepted… although the fact that he’d also been volunteered as an actor for the role of some fictitious security guard without his knowledge was something that he still had to ‘talk’ to his employer about. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could even pretend to be scared by what ultimately amounted to props and costume pieces in an atmosphere-heavy environment.

Not when he knew some of the real horrors associated with the Fazbear brand.

He could still hear the crunch of an animatronic bear’s jaws around his little brother’s skull, every time he tried to fall asleep… It sickened him to realise that, after a few decades, he no longer forgot to breathe at the sound –he didn’t deserve to breathe so easily when he’d been the one to put Mike’s head in there.

The fact that their father had somehow fixed the catastrophic injury –despite having no medical training to speak of– still haunted him… even though he’d read every piece of the man’s writing that he could get his hands on –the pieces that his uncle hadn’t locked away, that is.

Vincent shook his head roughly, pulling a tired half-smile onto his face as he passed one of the day-guards on his way into his current workplace; he really should ask her what her name was, maybe grab a drink or something. It was his third night on the job –with his shift actually starting in ten minutes, once the clock hit midnight– so he thought that he should try this ‘social life’ thing that everyone raved over.

He snorted to himself and readjusted his grip on his backpack; what a messed-up Cinderella he’d make.

The trip to the security office from the back door was a short one, and he quickly dropped his bag on the desk, peeked through the dirty window in the wall just behind it, then sat himself down on the squeaky swivel chair that was to be his makeshift throne for the next six hours. On his first night, he’d spent most of the time meandering his way through the dirty rooms and corridors while only half-listening to his young employer babble on about all of the ‘cool and spooky’ things the attraction had coming its way. On the second night, he’d stayed in the office and debated his life choices while rifling idly through the box of animatronic parts they’d left in the corner by the door…

Who the hell thought it was a good idea to put ‘authenticity’ above ‘fire safety’? His boss, apparently. It had been a whole thirty years since the last Fazbear pizza left their doors, and the building that was intended to be a memorial of sorts –and a cash-grab, if he was being honest– should have at least tried to make sure that this building was safer than those that inspired it in the first place.

Shaking his head, Vincent turned to the prop they’d set up just outside of the office. “You wouldn’t stand for this, either, would you, Freddy?” The empty ursine head and torso remained still and silent. “…And I’m talking to myself. Great.” As if on-cue, his phone rang, and he took a deep breath before answering it and putting it on speaker. “Showtime, Vince.”

“Hey, man! Okay, I have some awesome news for you,” came the cheery voice, skipping any of the typical preamble. “First of all, we found some vintage audio training cassettes –dude, these are, like, prehistoric!”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Yeah, definitely ‘prehistoric’…” he muttered, reaching for the control tablet on his right to begin a sweep of the various cameras set up around the building.

His employer continued as if he’d stayed entirely quiet, saying something about having the tapes play for the visitors that would start coming the following week. He wasn’t entirely paying attention, though, and was instead grimacing in increasingly-exaggerated ways at the poor image quality from each and every camera he checked.

“I have an even better surprise for you –and you’re not gonna believe this. We found one, a real one.” The pride in the younger man’s voice tickled Vincent’s interest… but it was what he said that drew his attention back to the call. He waited for some elaboration and got none as –after a short pause– his employer continued with, “Uh, uh, uhh, gotta go, man! Uh, w-well look, it’s in there somewhere. I-I’m sure you’ll see it.”

Vincent tuned out the rest of the call, refocusing on the cameras even as another voice –one of the tapes, perhaps?– started to chatter away in the background about mascot suits. ‘A real one’… a real what? They couldn’t have found an actual animatronic… could they?

Camera eight answered his question… They did.

There, standing at an oddly-organic slant, was a rotten-looking rabbit animatronic, illuminated from behind by lights set up inside a loose head-turned-lantern that had once belonged to the chicken-like character named Chica. The rabbit’s eyes appeared to be glowing slightly, showing that the robot was definitely powered on.

No wonder his boss was so proud.

He stared at it for another minute before continuing to flick through the cameras… When he cycled back around to number eight, however, the rabbit was nowhere to be seen.

“…Shit.”

**~*~**

At long last, the light on the camera blinked off, allowing him to move out of its view without a care. Ever since waking from the blank daze of deactivation, he’d been avoiding the mechanical eyes as much as possible; he didn’t want to risk being sent back to the Darkness, even if the lights throughout the building threatened to blind him after he’d spent so long without any.

Freedom, no matter how restricted, was better than that.

The sound of someone talking filtered through the corridors, making his long ears twitch. His body ached to get closer, and he found himself torn… risk getting thrown back into his prison of far too long, or give in and have someone other than himself and angry ghosts to interact with…

It wasn’t much of a choice.

He needed to get closer.

Eventually, the voice stopped, but he knew approximately where it’d come from, although in its place he could hear heavy breathing. A low static hiss left his voice-box and his lower jaw opened slightly in the best approximation of a grin that he could perform. Things were getting… promising.

Another camera light flickered on and he froze in place, eyeing it and waiting for it to turn off, the inner machinery of his body kicking up a gear or two as anticipation started to fill him. In the back of his mind, his AI urged him to move –there were people, need to entertain, need to get closer, go, do it, now– but he refused until the light went dark… then he started to move faster, the need now too strong to ignore.

A different noise made him stop in his tracks. Laughter. Children’s laughter. Shudders jolted along his frame; where was it coming from? Had the ghosts returned, yet again, to send him spiralling back to the Darkness? He had to know. The people breathing loudly could wait… the children could not.

When he found the room the laughter had come from, there was nothing there. Nothing. No people, no children, no ghosts, just… more of the same animatronic parts and children’s drawings that the rest of the building had. An angry hiss left him. Had he imagined it…? It wouldn’t be the first time, if his AI was to be believed –which he didn’t, his AI was an idiot that really needed to leave him be, no wait don’t leave him all alone the Darkness is hungry!

He shook his head, temporarily sacrificing his balance just to regain his composure. Back to finding the people that actually were in the building with him… real people were infinitely better than possible-phantoms.

Getting closer to the people proved to be fairly simple, all things considered, and –with only one more laughter-detour that turned out the same as the first– he finally was able to see the source of the breathing noises. A man with dark hair and grey shirt, peering intently at the device in his hands and paying no attention to the rabbit animatronic on the other side of the window.

He tilted his head to one side, cocking his ears and placing his hands on the dirty glass, taking in the sight of a people –person, the word was ‘person’– for the first time in… too long.

A humming in his machinery intensified suddenly, and the man recoiled from the device he held, letting out a loud shout as a burnt-looking rotund doll-child seemed to leap out of it at the man’s face, screaming and vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The lights in the building flashed red and an alarm started blaring in his ears; the man scrambled to grab another device and jabbed at it impatiently, his breath growing shorter and louder with each moment that passed. While the man was preoccupied, he slunk towards the corridor and peered into the man’s room through the doorway.

The lights finally returned to normal and the alarm silenced, his ears returned to their usual position after flicking harshly as if to shake off any lingering discomfort from the racket, and at long last… the man looked up at him; his eyes widened, mouth opening and closing a few times before managing to mutter, “Damn ventilation is going to give me a heart attack if it fails like that again…”

Slipping into the room while his AI commanded him to fulfil his programming and just do something to make the man feel better, a sense of unease halted his stride just two steps in. What was he supposed to do now? Again, he tilted his head to the side, raising a hand to wave at the man. Static crackled from his voice-box for a few moments. “Sssssprinnnngtrraaaap isssss mmmyy nnnammme… Le-le-let’s be frien-ends! ‘Tssss yourrrrsssss…?”

The man swallowed visibly, watching him almost as closely as he was being watched. “You’re… Springtrap? I never heard anything about another rabb—…” he trailed off, a strange expression twisting his features in quite a fascinating way. “…There’s no way you’re just a robot… You’re too worn-down to be working even this well.”

“Nnnnaaaaammmme?” he pressed, taking half a step closer.

“…Vincent Afton,” the man –his Friend– said, earning an ear-twitch and slow blink. “Are you supposed to be green?” he continued, reaching for one of the two devices beside him.

Springtrap’s head jerked to the left, the right, back to the left. “Gollllllldennnn…”

“…A springlock one, huh…? Now that’s old…” His Friend took a deep breath and nodded. “But who are you, really?”

He hissed, flexing his hands for a moment before shaking his head roughly. His AI and he had already had this argument. He was… he was Springtrap. The man in front of him suddenly vanished, replaced with a much younger person with almost the same colouration… Younger. Child. Play. They were already Friends… that grey shirt would look much better if it were red. His face should be red, too. Everything needed to be that colour, actually… the Game demanded it be so.

“Plaaaaaaaay withhhh mmmmme…Vinnnnncennnt Aaaffftonnn… C-c-come sing-ing-ing alo-o-ong.” Holding out a hand to his Friend, he tilted his head to one side and opened his mouth in another approximated grin. When the grey-clad person made no move to take it, he felt his ears start to swivel around to point backwards; he waited just a few moments longer before letting out a louder hiss that grew into a muted screech, starting to position himself to lunge.

The laughter –that detestable laughter– sounded out again, and he whipped his head around to look at the door, then the window, and then back at his Friend…

His Friend could wait.

The children could not.

**~*~**

Vincent’s heartrate took several minutes to calm down to something approaching a regular pace, even though he managed to juggle keeping the various systems online and leading Springtrap from room to room using a recording of what he was fairly certain was the voice of the animatronic known as ‘Balloon Boy’ –who he was still reeling from having seen a macabre bastardisation of leaping at him through the camera feed…

What… just… happened?

An old springlock animatronic –one of the first pair of characters his father and Uncle Henry had made together for the Fazbear brand– had… what, come to life and wanted him to ‘play’ with it?

He frowned. No. This was something else. All of the research data he’d read through had made it plain that –for an animatronic to be acting so far out of its usual programming– there had to be someone’s ‘mind’ or ‘spirit’ inside of it. A person was in that decades-old pile of nuts and bolts.

…He just hoped it wasn’t who the drawn-out voice it used reminded him of.

It was true that finding William Afton was on his to-do list, but… the thought that his father was stuck inside one of his own creations and had been who-knew-where long enough that his memory had been affected… didn’t sit right with him. Maybe, if he could get the once-golden rabbit back in speaking distance, he could press for some answers… but that would require trusting that he wouldn’t get hurt to the point of death in the process…

A rueful chuckle escaped him. The answer was obvious, really.

The things he was willing to do for his family… even kill, and even die.

“Okay, ‘Springtrap’,” Vincent said, flicking through the cameras again to start planning his approach. “Let’s play.”


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, Vincent managed to lead Springtrap back to the room on the other side of the window. The animatronic’s eyes gleamed a bright silver –the same colour as the childlike bot that had jumped at him as if through the cameras, he noted with a small shiver– and it seemed like every move he made was being watched and analysed. He kept his eyes on the rabbit, and his hands hovered over the controls; left for maintenance, right for the audio lure, and both ready to move at a moment’s notice.

“Hey, Springtrap, I’ve got a game I want to play,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could. The bot’s almost-intact ear twitched and his head canted to one side; taking that as an invitation to continue, he offered a small smile. “I think we got off to a bad start. How about we play something like… truth or dare? But I’m a complete wuss and probably won’t do many dares you may think of… Does that sound okay?” Vincent forced a chuckle and a tiny shrug –anything to sell the idea better, and just when did he suddenly regain the ability to be afraid…? “I just wanna get to know you better, you know?”

“K-k-k-kids… Wherrrrrrre are thhhey…?”

He fought back a frown. “Not quite sure what you’re talking about, buddy…” The Balloon Boy recording? Or was he referring to the old restaurant customers? “Just you and me in here.”

Springtrap fell silent and still for a minute, before releasing a pre-recorded laugh that he’d heard so many times in his childhood –still easily recognisable, even coming from the glitching voice-box mechanism– and shaking his head. “Nnnnno… Allllllwaayssss therrrrre, ouuut of ssssssiiiiighhht… I-I-I’d lov-v-ve to pla-pla-play!”

Smiling was easier than avoiding an expression, so that’s exactly what Vincent did, hoping that it would mask his growing apprehension. He decided to skip over any tangents he possibly could, and with that, his expression gained some additional honesty. “Who goes first? Do you want to, or shall I?”

A strange scraping-rubbing noise caught his attention; the animatronic’s hands were flexing against the glass, including the areas where the covering had been lost and instead bits of its endoskeleton were bared to the elements. The ‘golden’ rabbit tapped the window with one finger. “Yyyouu cannn go firrrrssssst, Vinncennt Afffftonnnn.”

“Actually, first of all, and this isn’t part of the game, but… why are you saying the whole name? Just ‘Vincent’ will do fine.” Red blinked to life on the left-hand control tablet, and he set the system for a full reboot, refusing to look away from his ‘visitor’ to check things properly. Was he worried that such dedication to keeping the animatronic busy and in his sights would cost him his job, if someone tried to break in, and all that…? No. No, he wasn’t worried. Springtrap’s hearing was probably far better than his own, so… if someone else was in the building, there would be some sort of reaction.

The rabbit leaned its –his?– forehead against the window. “Yyyyou rrrraaaatherrr thaaaat? Jusssssst Vinnnncce…?”

He shrugged. “Eh, not many call me ‘Vince’ anymore. Usually just my brother and some old friends. Then again, I’d probably let Mike call me anything, at this point.” Springtrap nodded slowly, and Vincent decided to try something else. “Say, does the name ‘Afton’ mean anything to you? You used to be Spring Bonnie, right?”

That earned him a harsh screech, louder and more fully-realised than the one earlier that night, and Springtrap’s ears flopped back as if in anger. “Nnnnnnot mmmyy nnnnammme…!”

Wincing and trying very hard to not give in to the urge to rub his ears, he nodded. “Right. Got it. You’re ‘Springtrap’… That isn’t a name I ever heard associated with a Fazbear character, which… you clearly are. You didn’t answer me, though.”

With narrowed eyes, the animatronic hissed loudly, before suddenly seeming to brighten up again. Singing started to play softly from the old voice-box, though the words were too glitchy to catch. After a few bars of the song, it stopped. “Aaaffftonn mmmmaaaade mmmmannnnyy… llliiiike Balllllllllorrrrraaa…”

Vincent’s blood ran cold. ‘Ballora’. Springtrap was a springlock animatronic, and they had been decommissioned after his little brother’s… run-in… with the golden bear named ‘Fredbear’. The character set that included the ballerina called ‘Ballora’ couldn’t have been known to the rabbit’s AI, as there was no reason to expect that the original pair of characters would interact with those from a sister franchise before it’d gotten a steady customer-base.

Then, there was also the fact that he was fairly certain that his father had kept the names of those characters from the public, hoping to make a big reveal during their official debut… a debut which was cut short by the death of his younger sister, that very same day. This meant that the person inside of Springtrap knew more about things than they should…

…And, in turn, made his suspicions about the identity of that person only grow stronger.

“Okay… your turn,” he managed after a minute, swallowing back all traces of what was going through his mind that he could and forcing his attention back to his companion –who was starting to sing again, he realised with a tiny shudder. Talk about horror clichés…

“I’mm getttinnng borrrred…” the rabbit stated, throwing a glance at the door that would allow it to come into the office. “C-c-can’t we p-play to-togeth-ther?”

“We are playing, or, I guess, we’re about to. Truth or dare, remember?” Red flashed in the corner of his vision, and again, he set off a full system reboot. Springtrap’s eyes followed every inch of movement that he made, and its mouth fell open just that little bit more; there was something in the animatronic’s mouth… he couldn’t tell what it was, but he could tell that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Seemingly unaware of Vincent’s thoughts, the robot let out a short hiss. “T’ssss nnnot the gaaamme I wannnt to plllaaay…”

“Alright… then answer one more thing for me, and then we can decide what else to play.” Another burst of the pre-recorded laughter was his answer, coupled with another head-tilt –he took both as an affirmative response. “How do you know about Ballora? Springlocks like you weren’t supposed to be interacting with the ‘Funtime’ set…”

Springtrap blinked slowly, a steady static buzz coming from the old voice-box, then started to tap its fingers rhythmically against the glass separating it from him. They stared at each other for several long minutes, until Vincent started to worry that he’d lost any chance of getting the important answers out of the rabbit… then, the static shut off. “Shhhe’sss a dannnncerr. Nnneeeeeeded good dannncerrrsss for…” It blinked again, angling its head in a more puzzled manner. “Forrr… forr mmmakinng rrrrrremmnnn—… Tha-that’s all we-we-we’ve got time for to-to-to-today! Now, y-you be sure to fo-follow the r-rul-rules, k-ki-kids! Ru-running is a-allowed in the halls at Fre-Fredbe-Fre-Freddy-y-y’s!”

He swore under his breath, his hand coming down on the controls to trigger the audio cue once again. The animatronic shuddered, its ears swivelling backwards, but it obeyed the apparent compulsion and followed the lure out of the room. Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest, even as he managed to lead Springtrap to the other end of the attraction, as well as keeping on top of the various systems that seemed determined to fail… and doing his best to ignore the burnt bear-shaped figure that seemed to now be hobbling its way this way and that, across the room beyond the glass.

There wasn’t any doubt in his mind, now… Springtrap was almost definitely what became of William Afton… and, it seemed that his own father wanted to kill him.

The aborted mention of what he could only assume was the word ‘remnant’ was proof enough, but taking that alongside the Funtimes’ integral role in those experiments… as well as everything else, there just wasn’t room for doubt.

Spring Bonnie had been his father’s favourite, even after making more advanced animatronics, just as Fredbear had been Uncle Henry’s –it was why the bear and the bunny had been ‘reborn’ in the more well-known cast as ‘Freddy Fazbear’ and just plain ‘Bonnie’… and why there was an animatronic in the Funtime set that was both characters as one conjoined entity.

In a twisted way, Vincent felt nothing about the revelation that his father’s trapped ‘spirit’ appeared to be after his death… if anything, it was a long time coming, after what happened when he was a stupid kid; killing his baby brother –even if he did come back to life afterwards– labelled him as a murderer when he was just eleven years old, and the nightmares of monstrous versions of the animatronics hunting him in his own home that came afterwards weren’t nearly enough of a punishment.

He deserved to die.

He wasn’t going to let himself die until he’d snapped his father out of… whatever this was.

It was the least a ‘loyal son’ could do.

**~*~**

Springtrap hissed at the emptiness of yet another room. Where was the laughter –the ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s– coming from? Why did they have to torment him like this? Was he truly losing his mind…? Had the Darkness and the Silence of his old prison really done so much to him? He shook his head and turned back towards the path to his Friend; playing ‘hide and seek’ was quickly wearing thin, especially when the hider seemed to be cheating.

He wanted to see the red flowers, something he knew only people could give him… and Vince was the only people –person, why did he keep slipping up like that?– he could be certain was in the building. His AI chided him for getting distracted from the grey-clad child; he should know better than that, he wasn’t doing good enough, he needed to stay with the child and make it smile… maybe by pulling its jaw so wide the smile was etched into those cheeks forever? That sounded like a good idea.

_‘Smile, people like it when you smile, and people listen to you when they like you.’_

_‘At Fredbear’s Family Diner, we want people to leave happier than they arrived, so remember to smile.’_

_‘Remember to smile. You are the face of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.’_

_‘Just like our entertainers, we need you to keep a happy outlook. Smile for the camera.’_

As he walked, one of Springtrap’s hands rose to feel the tears in his suit-skin-fur, tracing one in particular that spread from the corner of his mouth up into his cheek. He was always smiling, so… why did his Friend seem unhappy? Why did he not want to listen? Why did the machinery in his Friend’s body sound so erratic?

Wait, no, people aren’t mechanical… were they? He couldn’t remember, and his AI was no help whatsoever… Had he ever known, or had he imagined that, too? The indecision was starting to hurt his head, his circuits trying to process two entirely separate parts of him at once, and failing to do either task properly.

Vince did this to him…

If he hadn’t asked who Springtrap ‘really was’ like that… If he hadn’t asked about ‘Afton’… If he hadn’t asked about the angel-dancer-Ballora…

Who was he, to know so much about springlocks? Who was he, to know about… about…

Another camera light froze the rabbit in his tracks and he hissed, ears turning to face backwards, his AI echoing the sentiment in the back of his mind, just as impatient as he was to return to the Game. The stop-and-start method was just wasting time, at this point… but he couldn’t bring himself to drop the apprehension. Even if his Friend didn’t tell other people about him, video evidence would be damning…

He had too much red on his fur for that.

No, wait, no he didn’t… the red was just his imagination. His fur had turned a strange sort of green while he was locked away –dead– and there wasn’t any red… Bits of black, yes, especially around his joints, but no red.

The light blinked off, and Springtrap started to move again…

“Hello!”

His AI screamed in delight even as he shuddered and snarled in frustration. Child! Person! Friend! Go, go, go, go, go, go…!

He had no choice… He followed the voice to another empty room.

Looking around, Springtrap spotted an opening in the wall –a vent?– that looked large enough for him to crawl into, and he allowed himself a grin and static-snicker, feeling his tail give a little flick this way and that. Who would put cameras in an air duct? An idiot, that’s who. He searched for the camera in the room he’d been lured to… The light wasn’t on…

Showtime.


	3. Chapter 3

Lowering the maintenance tablet came at a cost, as the clock ticked over into his last hour for the night. This time, the burnt-up animatronic that met Vincent’s wide-eyed gaze was a one-armed Foxy, stripped down to the endoskeleton in more than a few places and jaw hanging open… with those same bright silver eyes. It pounced at him, screaming loudly; he jolted back, overbalancing his chair and sending himself sprawling…

Then the fox was gone… and what was left behind in its stead was another ventilation error.

Vincent struggled to calm down while he waited for the reboot to finish, but he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Once the ventilation was apparently working correctly again, he switched back to the cameras, searching for Springtrap.

“Not on any of them…? That can’t be right…” he muttered. That’s when he heard it –thudding, coming from the vents. “…Of course he’d think to do that…”

A command he hadn’t noticed before caught his eye, and he tapped it; evidently, his employer was even more of an oddball than he’d anticipated, because Vincent found himself looking at a camera feed from inside the air ducts. With a renewed sense of urgency, he cycled through them until the rabbit was staring back at him like a deer caught in headlights. Springtrap had gotten fairly close to the vent opening into the office, and that left him with a difficult decision… Close off part of the ventilation system to prevent his father from getting at him… or letting him through –and possibly avoiding another error.

It was already after five… he could last until six, and then… well, then he’d find out what sort of ‘daytime mode’ might be in play for the old robot. Setting the camera feed back to a nearby room, he pulled the maintenance tablet closer and waited.

It didn’t take long for Springtrap to crawl out of the vent beside him and stand up, head at a curious tilt and hands flexing. Vincent met his gaze evenly, even managing to smile slightly. “Hey, buddy. That’s… pretty inventive, not going to lie. I’m definitely going to have to ask about the ducts, next time I’m talking to my boss, though.”

“Taaaaaag, yyou’rre it,” the animatronic stated with another burst of its pre-recorded laughter. It raised its hands towards him, almost as if it wanted to grab him. “D-d-do I get-t-t to play fir-first?”

“Do you like carrots, Springtrap?” he asked, surprising both of them with the spontaneity –or even randomness– of the question. The rabbit kept blinking, and its arms lowered slowly. “I wonder if the old-wives’-tale about eating a lot of carrots being good for sight holds any truth to it, and if so, is that why rabbits have such good eyesight?”

Under any other circumstances, Vincent would never be the one to ask such things. Questions like these were usually the domain of his younger brother… But Michael was the son that he was fairly certain had been his father’s favourite of the two of them.

If there was a chance that it would jog a memory, then what did he really have to lose?

“Though, I guess, since you’re an animatronic and all… you don’t eat, do you?” His smile grew; the rabbit appeared to be bewildered, at the very least, but wasn’t showing any signs that it still wanted to hurt him. “You know, I can think of a few ways to make this go a bit better for both of us. You want to play, but… you haven’t told me what.”

His companion remained silent for several minutes, just standing there with erratic twitches tugging at its extremities. “Ssssssssssssmiiiile… Yyou’rrrre ssssmiliiinnng… Gre-gre-great! Kee-keep it up-p.” Springtrap stepped closer and opened its mouth slightly, then raised one hand towards him with the palm facing up. “C-can’t play hi-hide and-d seek l-li-like this, Vinnnnce…”

Vincent actually managed to push aside some of his still-growing unease and laugh at that. “So you go from ‘tag’ to ‘hide-and-seek’? Sorry, but I’m not supposed to leave this room unless there’s something in the building that doesn’t belong.”

“Therrrre’ss at leassst onnne othherrr chhilllld…” Springtrap stated, using a lower volume than seemed normal. The rabbit shook its head, stumbling slightly for a moment before catching itself. Those gleaming eyes looked down at its outstretched hand then back up at him, and its ears turned to face outwards. “Don’t y-you want-t-t to play?”

“I’m here because it’s my job,” he replied with a shrug. All of one second passed before the animatronic seemed to… deflate, for lack of a better word. “It’s something we adults have to do, to survive, you know.” Vincent quipped, quoting one of his father’s own statements –often used as an excuse for not being able to spend as much time with the family as they’d all wanted.

The rabbit let out a hiss, followed by what could only have been an irritated grunt. “…Vinnnce issn’t an adulllt…”

He was about to respond when he was interrupted by an alarm. In a minor panic, Vincent jerked his head down to look at the maintenance tablet, only to realise that it was his watch instead. Six in the morning –his shift was officially over. Whirring noises drew his attention back to Springtrap, just in time to see the rabbit moving jerkily out of the room and start down the corridor… ‘daytime mode’ was clearly in effect to some extent. Pulling the security tablet closer, he watched the animatronic stagger to a mock-up of a Fazbear ‘party room’ –complete with party hats on the tables– and then simply… stop.

With a small frown, Vincent forced a big breath in and out of his lungs, then gathered up his things and sat to wait for his replacement.

‘Not an adult’, huh?

**~*~**

Springtrap snarled and hissed at his AI. There wasn’t any need to obey the compulsion to go and ‘get ready for a party’, because there was no party; too bad that his AI was sometimes even more stubborn than he was… He went to ‘get ready for a party’.

As his body powered down to wait for people to start coming for the day, he considered his new Friend again. Why did he say that he’s an adult? That was clearly not the case; the vision of a child in Vincent’s place refused to leave his mind, even as his eyelids stuttered closed to return him to a lighter Darkness than his old prison. He couldn’t be so far gone that he’d mistake an adult for a child, right?

He missed Vincent already.

The building was so quiet, otherwise… so empty and devoid of life. When would people come and fill the space with noise? His AI whispered to him, excitedly planning out what games might be played next time; maybe they’d be able to play something more involved, or more colourful…?

His Friend’s systems were a problem, though… Too often, Springtrap had heard Vince’s heavy breathing –even a subtle thudding that grew and grew– and… didn’t that mean bad things for people? He was sure it did. Humans need their bodies to work smoothly, not in any form of overdrive, especially for such a long time.

Worry gripped his mind tightly and refused to let go.

Would he lose his Friend after so little time together?

No. No, that was not an option. He’d find some way to fix his Friend… and if he broke down, then he’d put him back together again, better than before, and ready to play some more.

It had almost worked for the other children, so… why would it not work for Vincent, now that he knew better?

Springtrap forced his eyes open again, scanning the parts of the room that he could without moving his head and trying to remember if there was a suitable new body for Vincent to use after such an upgrade –how did he know people could use animatronic bodies…? People weren’t the same as him.

Then again, Vincent wasn’t like other people, either… he was better.


	4. Chapter 4

Vincent sat in his car and waited for his racing thoughts to calm into a semblance of order, before pulling out his phone and scrolling through the saved numbers; it was time to get something more, maybe even tell his boss that the animatronic they’d found was actually even spookier than expected…

His thumb hovered over the screen, and he paused.

Could he spill the beans about his father…? Should he, even? Springtrap was erratic, dangerous, and might have only been slightly less than deadly out of wanting to draw the whole thing out…

He tapped ‘call’.

He waited.

It rang until the call timed out. With a sigh, he lowered the phone and started to write out a message instead.

‘Hey, Eric, just checking in. There’s some things I want to talk to you about… Jeremy too, if he’s not off being an idiot again. It’s about Fazbear stuff.’

That should peak the guy’s curiosity, and with that done, he turned the key and started the short drive back home; trying his hardest not to think about what he’d learned wasn’t the simplest of tasks, but the nearly-mindless task of controlling a vehicle seemed to help. A thorn of guilt for simply leaving his father at the attraction tried to worm its way into his side… What else could he have done? It wasn’t like he could feasibly just… smuggle the old rabbit out –it just wasn’t viable without a lot more thought put in… and a bigger car.

Vincent’s sedan would be far too small, unless there was a way of getting the man out of the animatronic… and he doubted there was much of William Afton’s corpse left, after so long.

When he pulled into the driveway, he could see the curtains over the front window fall back into place, drawing a small smile to his face that grew several sizes as he locked the car and slipped through the front door. A plate of waffles and bacon was shoved in his direction before he’d even managed to toe off his shoes and drape his jacket on the hat stand by the door.

“Welcome home.”

He let himself chuckle softly. “Hey, Mike. Been up long?” Taking the plate from the younger man, Vincent grinned, leading the way into the dining room and almost collapsing into a chair. “No eggs, I see.”

Michael’s face twisted –although some of the effect was lost beneath the bandages he insisted on wearing ever since an ill-fated stint of employment at their father’s old animatronic rental company. “No. No eggs. Ever.” He claimed one of the other chairs, sitting down gingerly –a direct contrast to his brother– and crossed his arms on the tabletop. “I didn’t sleep at all… but how did it go, this time? Still as boring as last night?”

“Yeah, sorry…” A small frown tugged Vincent’s features downward for a moment before he caught himself and dug into his breakfast. “As for the job… well… Things got ‘interesting’. Apparently Eric wasn’t kidding about the systems being absolute donkey’s-balls. The ventilation system failed at least five times.”

A shudder ran through Mike’s body. “Do you really have to work there? I could get a job, too, you know…”

“…You know that’s probably not the best option…” Vince muttered around a mouthful, swallowing and chasing it down with some water. “Unless you’ve got an idea for work where you won’t be scaring everyone into thinking you’re a mummy, or something.” A long and low groan was the reply he got. “Look, I’ll manage. I just need some sleep and to try and work something out, before my next shift.”

There was a stretch of companionable silence for a few minutes, then Michael uncrossed his arms to jab a wrapped finger at him. “You said ‘interesting’. As far as I know, that’s almost always been bad news in this family… tell me.”

Vincent let out a quiet hum. “…I may have a lead on what happened to him.” He held up a hand to stop the oncoming flood of questions in its tracks –they both wanted answers, they had for decades. “They tracked down an animatronic, and it still works… somehow… but it’s not just a robot.”

A choked noise sounded out from the other side of the table. “And you think… that Father’s in it?”

With a grimace, he jerked his head up and down. “It’s one of the only things that makes that much sense… It’s a springlock suit, and whoever’s inside it knows about the Funtimes, may know about that Remnant crap… and… consider that along with the fact that… it just sounds a bit like him. A lot like him, actually.” Sighing, Vincent lowered his gaze to stare blankly at the plate in front of him. “If it is, though…”

“If it is, then you’re going to let me come with you on your next shift. Why didn’t you call me, or something? You know I barely sleep anymore, anyway, so it’s not as if you’d have woken me.” Michael demanded, planting his hands on the table and rising halfway to his feet. “I miss him too, you know, and we need more than just answers, Vince!” The bandages shifted again when he let out a deep sigh. “…Look, I… It’s been a long night for me, too. We probably both need at least a little sleep.”

Vincent shook his head. “Nah… I probably deserved that. Sorry, Mikey… You definitely need answers more than I do.”

Quite some time ago, Michael had faced one of the darker corners of the Fazbear legacy… of their father’s legacy. It was why he refused to go outside during the day, why he covered every inch of skin he could, why he wore sunglasses whenever there was a possibility that someone other than Vincent would see his eyes…

It was why his brother no longer even looked alive.

Mike heaved another sigh and sat back down heavily. “Go get some sleep, okay? We can talk about this later.”

He nodded, taking his plate to the kitchen sink and then making his way through the house to his bedroom –he didn’t even bother changing into the pyjamas his brother had dug out from the mess that he called a ‘closet’ before faceplanting into his pillow. Sleep would help, he knew, but the decades-old guilt that reared its ugly head threatened to eat him alive if he didn’t do something to relieve it…

Too bad he’d already promised that he wouldn’t do anything too extreme, like drink himself to unconsciousness or carve himself up… which didn’t leave him many options, all things considered. Vincent probably should have been proud that he’d actually kept the promise for as long as he had.

“When I see that rabbit again, I’m gonna punch it in the face.”

**~*~**

_Thunder rumbling in the distance and flashes of light drew Vincent out of a brainless haze. The building was wet, cold –there were even rats scurrying across the floor, pausing every now and then to sniff the air before continuing on their way. Numbly, he realised that he was standing, and tried to move. His body felt heavy, his joints stiff, and as his mind began to focus on himself… he felt a chill colder than ice envelop him._

_He was Freddy… Somehow, his body was that of the Freddy Fazbear character._

_Standing either side of him on the low stage were the purple rabbit named Bonnie and the chicken named Chica; deep in his bones, Vincent just knew that the pirate animatronic Foxy was elsewhere in the building, hidden away behind a purple curtain. Clambering down from the raised platform took effort, but once he succeeded, he turned to look at the other two characters for a moment before deciding to scan the room he was in for any clues as to… what may happen next._

_It looked like one of the old Fazbear eateries –checker-board tiles and low-set tables and all– but with definite signs of ill repair. The ceiling was leaking in too many places to count, the walls were stained from water and dirt, the floor was dirty, the tiles chipped and broken…_

_Footsteps –lighter than his own heavy ones– caught his attention, and he looked up at one of the doorways. A figure came into view, their body was obscured by deep shadow but bearing a painfully-familiar ursine head. They slowed to a halt several paces away, then raised a hand towards him, palm up._

_“Follow me.”_

_Vincent wanted to frown, to question the figure, but his body acted without his input; he stepped towards the figure, who turned to lead him elsewhere in the building. After a few moments, he regained motor control… and decided to oblige the figure anyway. Maybe he’d learn something, maybe he would remain as bewildered as before… Regardless, it was better than doing nothing… and he was certain he was dreaming, so what was the worst that could happen, all things considered._

_The bear-headed figure guided him through more dilapidated rooms and corridors, each just as run-down as the last. They paused, glancing back to check he was still following them, then walked right through a wall._

_Confused, he tried to do the same, only to find that the wall was just as solid as it looked. A feeling of disappointment welled up in his gut, and he started to leave –perhaps there was some other way through– only managing to take a few steps before more footsteps rushed towards him and his legs buckled._

_The chill returned with a vengeance. Vincent twisted, trying to look at his attacker, only to be met with a silhouette-person in purple clothes, pale eyes glowing eerily in the darkness. They tore at his robotic body, severing vital wires and destroying servos with a precision that screamed familiarity._

_Strangely, though, he didn’t feel any pain…_

_The last thing the ‘Purple Guy’ did was disconnect Vincent’s head from the destroyed body, breathing heavily and locking eyes with him. “One down… Sorry, Freddy, but I can’t have you hiding one of them from me… Which is it? Gabriel was the quiet and sensible one… is it him?” It almost sounded like the same voice that the ghostly ‘bear’ had… just much, much more familiar… “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, you’re just a pile of scrap metal, now. Good night, my friend.”_

_Darkness claimed Vincent’s mind once again, sending him deeper into slumber._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing my take on one of the fandom's "darlings"...

_Vincent opened his eyes to find that he was now in the body of the lavender rabbit named Bonnie… and he wasted no time in getting off the stage and starting to explore the building. The strange ghostly bear’s footsteps were getting closer, but he turned down the opposite corridor, intent on seeing as much as this weird dream could show him. The more he walked, however, the more he realised that he recognised the layout; it was the first Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza to ever open its doors for the public, and the one at which –following a reopening– Mike had his first true exposure to the possessed animatronics…_

_As he passed Pirate’s Cove, the area set aside for the Foxy character, Vincent heard footsteps once again, and he shrugged as best as the body he was in allowed. Maybe, if he followed the bear-thing this time, it would be different and wouldn’t just lead him into a wall…_

_Decision made, he turned towards the sound, and was greeted by the same vague figure as before… who said the same thing as before. Vincent wanted to ask where they were trying to take him, but nothing came out. He almost felt like he was having déjà vu when the figure lead him through the building towards that very same room._

_A sensation of dread filled him when he noticed the pieces of Freddy strewn about the floor… This wasn’t a loop._

_Once again, the ghostly bear disappeared through the wall, leaving Vincent confused and a little frustrated. What did that thing even want from him? How was he supposed to follow if all he could do was walk straight into a solid wall? The dread built up even further when he turned to leave and heard those fast footsteps once more._

_Again, his legs buckled._

_Again, his body was torn apart around him._

_Again, the Purple Guy saved decapitation for last, picking his head up and talking to it like some demented version of Hamlet._

_“I suppose, if Freddy harboured Gabriel, you’d have been hiding little Jeremy? I really am sorry about this, Bonnie… but I can’t have things continue the way they have…” Purple Guy murmured, stroking Vincent’s –Bonnie’s– cheek with something that might have been affection. “It’s time to say ‘good night’ for possibly the last time…”_

**~*~**

The sun was already going down again when Vincent hauled himself back into his car and started the engine. In his pocket, his phone felt like a lead weight, but the message that had ripped him out of his fitful slumber was too important to ignore. Eric had replied, asking to meet at a nearby park, even promising that his brother would also be there –something about herding both Jeremy and their dogs for some exercise that didn’t involve playing chicken on the busiest road in the area. He felt a little guilty leaving the house without having ‘that talk’ with Michael… but while he’d slept, the younger Afton had passed out in front of the television –complete with a bowl of popcorn, just like when they were younger– and he didn’t want to wake him.

Besides, in some ways it was better to ask for forgiveness for doing things like this on his own than try to think of new excuses for why his little brother was covered in bandages from head to toe.

The dream he’d had resurfaced in his mind as he drove… What was the point of it? Had he dreamed that, simply because of last night’s shift? Or was there something more to the thing than what was obvious? This ‘Purple Guy’… who was it? Could it possibly be the Afton family’s patriarch?

He shook his head, trying to return his focus to the road, only to realise that he’d already parked the car beside the park his employer had invited him to. Vincent turned the engine off and climbed out, forcing a few deep breaths in an effort to regain some composure. A voice called out, followed by a series of barks, drawing a small smile to his face –at least the Fitzgerald brothers’ dogs would help to calm his nerves, even if the brothers themselves didn’t. After grabbing the bottle of water he’d stashed in the door, Vincent locked his car and turned to throw a smile and nod in Eric’s direction.

“Hey, man, thought you’d never show!” Eric laughed as he got close enough to not need to raise his voice. At his feet, the blond’s tiny puffball of a dog yapped excitedly, trotting in circles around its owner’s legs and forcing him to step out of the loops created by the leash. “Jere’ was pretty surprised you wanted to chat, y’know. Somethin’ about not really sitting down for a few years? What’s up with that, dude?”

Vincent offered an apologetic grunt. “Yeah, I guess I should try to explain that, huh? Still, first thing’s first. Where is he?” His gaze swept across the areas of the park that were visible from their location… his old friend seemed to have vanished, if he’d been there to begin with, and his slobber-machine was also nowhere to be seen. He swallowed back a snicker; Vincent had always found it funny that the brothers’ tastes in dogs seemed to be so different, almost sitting at opposing ends of the spectrum.

Shrugging, Eric beckoned for him to follow. “I… kinda tied him to a bench… with Samson’s leash.”

Long-since used to the lengths sometimes required to keep Jeremy out of trouble, he simply muttered, “Fair enough,” and trailed after the younger man. “So, remind me… Does Jug have eyes, under all that fur?” he asked, hoping to get something close to general pleasantries out of the way before he was inevitably forced to launch into the less-than-pleasant topics that were on his mind.

“Juggernaut has eyes for everything he thinks is important, at least,” was the response, coupled with a fond look down at his pet. “Like anything with bacon –trust me, this boy’s a monster for bacon, like, something fierce!”

By then, the bench Eric had mentioned was within view, and sure enough, there Jeremy was… with his own dog sitting beside him –as still as a statue made out of muscle– and visibly tethered to one of the bench’s legs by a bright green leash. The older Fitzgerald waved, a bemused grin on his face. “Long time, no see, stranger.”

With a quiet chuckle, Vincent nodded and sat beside him. “I suppose I deserved that. Good to see you, pal.”

Sitting down on the other side of his brother, Eric let out a loud hum. “So, what’s up Vince? You said you had, like… ‘Fazbeary stuff’ to talk about?” he asked, grinning widely. Between them, Jeremy snorted and rolled his eyes. “What, it’s what the text said!”

“And we can’t even catch up, first? At least let me do that, Ricky…” Pointedly, he turned away from the blond and focused his attention solely on Vincent. “Why have you been a ghost for the past few years, for starters? I mean, it’s bad enough that the rest of the old gang is… who-knows-where, probably dead, but you? You’re still around, and somehow you’re aging like a robot, or something.”

He blinked. “…A robot? Right, naturally.” It was true that he didn’t exactly look his age, but that was a bit much. Offering a shrug and reaching out a hand for the dogs to sniff at, Vincent shook his head with a wry smile. “Always chalked it up to ‘good genes’, Jere’. As for what I’ve been up to… still looking for leads on the others, and Dad, too.”

“The missing kids cases from, like, the eighties, right?” Eric chimed in eagerly, leaning forward to have a clear line of sight on both brunet men. “I didn’t know you thought they had to do with your old pals…? You’re some kinda private investigator, or something? That’s so awesome!”

Jeremy ran a hand through his hair, baring an ugly old scar that covered almost all of his forehead and distorted his hairline. “Fazbear’s pretty much responsible for anything that went wrong, back then… I still can’t look at foxes the same way –or dogs with long thin snouts…” With a heavy sigh, he pinned Vincent with a hard stare. “If you find your father, remember that you promised to punch him a few times for me… Mangle’s bite was almost definitely something a bit more than just the ‘usual misbehaviour’, and he always looked like he wanted to kill us for what happened to your little brother in ‘83.”

Strangely, Eric managed to remain quiet at that –perhaps sensing the shift in his brother’s mood. Vincent returned his old friend’s stare evenly. “I remember. Taking the night shift after that was… ‘interesting’, to say the least.”

“What happened to your bro’ in ‘83…?”

Silence never did last long when Eric Fitzgerald and Fazbear Entertainment were both relevant…

“It was a party –don’t even remember whose it was– and me, Vince, Eli, and Javier were being stupid kids.” Jeremy stated flatly. “We thought Mike was being a crybaby, so we decided to give him something to cry about… Bluntly, we stuck his head into the mouth of one of the animatronics while it was performing.”

For once, the blond actually looked a little sick at something connected to Fazbear Entertainment’s gruesome history, even bringing a hand up to his mouth for a few moments. “Dude… Almost makes it sound like ‘87 was some weird kind of ‘retribution’…”

“That’s probably how my father would’ve seen it…” Vincent muttered, silently thankful that he wasn’t the one to have given that terse explanation. He could feel his stomach twisting into a tight knot; even hearing about it was more than he wanted to deal with. “Eric, did you guys check that animatronic over, before my shift?” he asked, scrambling for a topic that might take his mind off of the guilt.

He perked up, clearly glad for the change. “Yeah, we tried to have a guy give it a once-over to check nothing was gonna fall off, or anything like that. He said he couldn’t come by ‘til, like… next week? Tried to clean it up a bit, too, but… it’s all twitchy, and nearly took out an eye or two. So you saw it? What do you think, dude? Ain’t it cool?”

“You weren’t pulling my leg, then?” Jeremy interjected, bemused. “I thought you’d imagined it, or something…”

“Nah, man, this thing’s the real deal. And it’s one of the first ones, too.”

“Spring Bonnie.” Vincent supplied with a small nod. “Though, that’s not very ‘horror attraction’ applicable.”

“Nope, so we’re gonna call it ‘Springtrap’,” Eric grinned. “I came up with that one, myself.”

His blood ran cold. So that’s where the name came from… and the rabbit just went along with it? “Sounds fitting enough. Those old ones were springlock suits –both costume and robot. I think there was even at least one person who died while wearing one…”

Leaning closer, Eric stage-whispered, “Do you think that’s the one we got?”

“…No. I think that one was a Fredbear.”

Jeremy shifted, throwing a grimace at both of them. “Hey, can we not talk about this anymore…? This is grossing me out.” While Eric pouted and tried to convince his brother that it was one of the most interesting topics in the world, Vincent retreated back into his thoughts while idly scratching behind Samson’s ears.

He still had so much about the whole situation that he didn’t know… not least of which being whether he was right about who the rabbit was playing host to. Would it be a good idea to bring Michael with him to confront Springtrap, or should he try to deal with the whole thing on his own? There was no way he wanted to involve those outside of the family where he didn’t need to –less collateral was always a good idea.

Were there other ways to deal with the ‘bad mood’ than using that recording to lure Springtrap to other parts of the building?

Could he reach a point with the rabbit animatronic where he could trust it outside of a contained area…?

Could he eventually bring William Afton home?

“Earth to Vince…? You awake?” Jeremy asked, nudging him with an elbow and dragging him back to reality. Chuckling slightly at the bewildered look on the other brunet’s face, he continued, “Want to grab some coffee and a hot dog, or something?”

“…Sure. Sure, that sounds great, actually,” he replied, then smirked. “As long as you don’t try to chug a whole pot and inhale your food without biting or chewing.”

That earned him a shove and a burst of laughter. “That was one time!”

**~*~**

_“This is what you get, you know… You’re nothing but a monster. A heartless, cold-blooded, monster. You kill anything and everything that crosses your path, and you think you won’t destroy him, too? How can you actually think that? That’s stupid –insane. You’re insane.”_

Springtrap hissed, trying to drown out the spectre that had propped itself up on his shoulders, their hands digging deep into his ears. It was the one that visited him the most, seemingly the one with the most to say… and it visited him the most during the day, when his joints became stiffer and his AI became louder and harder to control…

He hated it.

The spectre seemed to derive some sort of pleasure out of the torment; he knew he shouldn’t feel pleased at that, but he couldn’t help himself –he could still make people happy, even looking the way he did.

_“I don’t know why you don’t just… vanish, already. You can’t do anything right, except kill.”_

Yes, he could. He was going to spend lots and lots of time with his new Friend… once said Friend returned –where did Vince go? Was he coming back? When was he coming back? Did he forget about Springtrap already? He hadn’t been that scary, had he? He’d messed up, hadn’t he? He’d done something terrible… he scared away his Friend, and now Vince was never coming back… it would be just like his prison.

_“Why don’t you prove me right, when you see him next? Prove what you’re best at… Kill him, like you killed so many other people. It’s just one more, after all. What’s one more life on your hands? They’re already so stained with blood that I can’t see your old colour anymore.”_

He didn’t want to kill Vince, though… he wanted Vince to be around for a long, long, long time. He’d fix his Friend, if he accidentally played a little too roughly, even. His AI’s agreement surged through his circuits, lifting Springtrap’s mood slightly and making the spectre laugh –he didn’t like that laugh, it didn’t sound right, it never sounded right…

_“Just a puppet, now, aren’t you? A rabid animal, and you don’t even realise how far gone you are…”_

Springtrap wasn’t a puppet. He looked nothing like that animatronic, after all, and he had his own will. The spectre’s hands moved from his ears to rest on top of his head, pushing passed his fur and brushing against the machinery underneath. He shuddered, his body jerking violently when they touched some loose wires.

Again, they laughed… and again, he felt satisfaction well up inside of him.

_“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of playing with you… You’ll never escape me. I’m here for good, and I’ll keep doing anything I want until you give me what you owe me.”_

What did he owe a spectre…? What could he owe them? Any of them? They hated him so much… and he couldn’t figure out why. Was it because he killed them? When did he do that? He hissed again, louder than before, and tried to lock eyes with them. If he could just… stare his hatred at them… maybe they’d leave him be… seeing as he couldn’t force his voice-box to work during most days.

_“I’m not going anywhere. Who knows, though, I might change my mind if you kill your new ‘friend’…”_


	6. Chapter 6

Vincent had just enough time to return home for an hour or so before his shift, and he slipped through the front door with a small smile on his face. Jeremy had somehow managed to keep from doing anything stupid for the entire time –a rarity since having his skull crushed in the jaws of a malfunctioning animatronic– and he felt strangely energised, despite the lack of sleep… Had he really forgotten what it was like to hang out with a friend?

Michael waved at him from his place in front of the television, throwing a blank stare at him that had Vincent’s mood come crashing back down; the ‘talk’… he’d almost forgotten about that, too.

“You’re home… Good.” The bandaged man patted the space beside him. “No work until we talk.”

With a grimace, the older Afton brother nodded and sat down. “I would’ve woken you, but… you don’t get enough sleep as it is.” Skilfully ignoring the retort of ‘neither do you’, Vincent continued. “So, you want to talk about the ‘bot they’ve got at Fazbear’s Fright, yeah?”

“And about what exactly makes you think I’m not coming with you, tonight.”

“Right…” He stretched and yawned, trying to buy himself some time. “Well, I said it sounds a lot like him –when it’s not using obviously pre-recorded bits– and that it knows things that some random person shouldn’t… Mike, if it is him, his memory’s completely shot… I don’t want you getting your hopes up too high, okay?”

The bandages shifted in that subtle way that he recognised as a frown. “…I’ve been thinking about that, you know… It’s been, what, three decades? Where was he, all that time? What did he leave to do, in the first place?”

“I don’t know for sure, but… Mike, he’s dead. He’s dead-er than you, even, and that’s saying something.” Vincent muttered, bitterness turning his voice harsh at the end. After clearing his throat, and pointedly ignoring the stare being levelled at him, he let out a short bark of laughter. “I do know that the animatronics you were dealing with at Freddy’s were dismantled… Uncle Henry said something about melting them down, when I managed to get anything out of him about that… maybe that has something to do with—…” he trailed off, feeling his heart begin to sink into his gut.

Was that what the crazy dream was about…? It was simply ridiculous to assume, but he’d long-since thrown such thoughts by the wayside; this was his family, after all, there was no such thing as ‘too strange’.

Michael hummed lowly, nudging him with a too-bony elbow. “You’re not doing this alone, Vince… You can’t protect me forever, I’m a grown man.” One of his hands flew up to stave off any reply. “Is Father… is the animatronic dangerous, you think? I’m pretty sure we’ve got an axe in the basement, so…”

Stunned blinking was the best Vincent could muster for at least a full minute, before he felt an honest chuckle build up in his throat. “You know, sometimes I forget what a little shit you can be…”

“Sure you do,” Mike snorted. “So, is he?”

“…I’m going to have to say ‘yes’… He didn’t actually do anything to me, but… I guess it could’ve been the atmosphere, or the screeching…” Vincent felt Michael’s body stiffen, and he nodded. “Yep, just like any of the others that decide to attack.”

“Fun…”

“Yup. Still want to come?”

“…Do you really have to ask?”

**~*~**

The day-guard didn’t even bat an eyelid at the bandaged man trailing after Vincent on his way into Fazbear’s Fright, something that had Michael snickering quietly while the older brunet man was dragging another chair into the security office from one of the other rooms. Despite the tension prickling at his nerves, Vincent felt more confident than he had before –whether it was due to the company or the fact that he knew something of what to expect.

Mike had more experience with aggressive animatronics, having spent at least a week at each of two different locations… Vincent only had a couple of nights’-worth to draw from.

“Starting at midnight, right? Do you think he’s got a ‘night-mode’?” Mike asked, looking away from the box of parts by the door.

Pausing in his preparations –locate the rabbit, make sure the maintenance panel is primed– he offered a shrug. “I’m pretty sure he does. Cut off in the middle of a conversation at six, and was moving more… robot-like, too.” Vincent hummed. “Actually, how about we tag-team this shit? Want to keep an eye on the cameras, or on the other craptastic systems?”

“Sounds good. I’ll take the cameras… I had more sleep than you.”

The clock hit twelve, and –as if on cue– Vincent’s phone rang. Jolting in his seat, he scrambled to answer it and set it to ‘speaker’. Immediately, another recording started to play; Vincent caught something about the finicky nature of the springlock suits before muting the call. “Why is Eric making me listen to these…?” he groaned.

Beside him, Mike let out a low hum. “That voice sounded a bit familiar, though… Was that Uncle Scott, maybe?” Using one hand to flick through the cameras, he brought the other up to his face as if he was holding an old phone receiver. “‘Uh, hello… hello, hello’… That’s very like him, don’t you think?”

“You’ve got a point…” he stated with a small shrug, before straightening in his chair. “Wait, did you lose track of him?”

Michael didn’t answer for a few long seconds, making Vincent’s stomach drop deeper with every moment. “…He’s making a beeline for the office.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Right. The ‘audio’ button? Pressing that seems to pull his attention away from everything else, as long as you’ve got a near enough camera turned on…” Another breath. “We’ll let him come this time… I’ll make sure nothing goes down on my end.”

**~*~**

He woke to the sounds of more footsteps reaching his ears and his joints finally beginning to loosen up again. The spectre’s hands brushed through the fur behind the long extremities in an almost-comforting manner, lulling him into a strange sort of daze… only for it to be broken by another chuckle and a harsh tug on his broken ear that sent sparks flying through his skull. Shaking his head and trying to swipe at the spectre did very little –they disappeared before his hand made contact.

_“Remember what I said… You want me to go away for good, don’t you?”_

Springtrap’s voice-box issued a burst of sharp static in place of the growl he wanted… then he remembered.

Vince.

Vince should be back.

That’s how it worked, right? Even if his Friend was just a child, he’d said he had a ‘job’ in the building…

His AI hummed eagerly, kicking the machinery in his torso into a faster gear. The sounds of a telephone seemed to echo through the building, coming from that same room as the previous time and he turned towards it. As he got closer, a slight bounce entered his step –he could see his Friend again, Vince hadn’t left him to rot– but something made him pause…

There was a voice he didn’t recognise, coming from the same room as Vince’s voice.

Hesitation crept back into his mind. What was he supposed to do now? Would this new people be his Friend, too…? Or was Vince trying to betray him, trying to send him back to the hungry grasp of the Darkness by involving someone who didn’t need to know…?

_“I told you… You can’t trust him. He’s just going to hurt you, so hurt him first…”_ the spectre’s voice whispered softly, and his ears swivelled to face backwards. At the back of his mind, he could feel his AI practically clawing at the walls, for once just as angry as he was. Even if the spectre was wrong or lying… he couldn’t take that risk.

Besides, Vince was his Friend.

His.

Vince belonged to him.

Springtrap started to move once again, fingers twitching as his machinery generated just a little too much electricity for his worn-down circuits to handle.

In no time at all, he was staring through the grimy window at his Friend and the newcomer, his eyes narrowed and an unbroken hiss filling the air. The newcomer was smaller than Vincent, thin and covered from head to toe in fabric that wrapped tightly around every possible part of their body. Vince’s gaze met Springtrap’s evenly, even offering a smile; the newcomer merely stared, dark-lensed glasses slipping down their face slightly.

“I was wondering how long you’d take, buddy,” his Friend said, dipping his head slightly in a nod. The rabbit’s eyes flicked over to him for a moment, before returning to lock on the unfamiliar face. “This is my brother, Mike. Mike, this is Springtrap.”

The wrapped child’s head jerked to stare at Vince for a few moments, then raised a hand to wave –half-heartedly, his AI hissed, prompting the one coming from Springtrap’s voice-box to rise in volume. “Uh, hey. You look like you’ve seen better days… Don’t worry, though, I’m the only other one who knows about you being… well… like this.”

His hiss stuttered to a stop, and his ears returned to their rightful position. “Issss thaaat trrrrue…? We-we-well, I sure ho-p-p-pe so.” He could trust Vince, couldn’t he? The spectre was wrong… they had to be wrong… “Sta-a-ay right-t there, ki-kids.” Turning on the spot, he quickly made his way into the hallway, gripping the doorframe and peering inside the room they were in, his ears and tail giving a series of playful flicks.

Mike seemed to be uneasy about something, if the way he tensed up so visibly was anything to go by… He was scaring Vince’s brother. That wasn’t what he wanted… Now, his AI was screaming at him –he was a horrible bunny, he wasn’t supposed to scare kids, he was supposed to make them happy and smile– and he squatted, feeling his ears droop and turn back yet again. From his place closer to the door, Vince heaved a loud sigh, which only made his AI’s dissatisfaction grow louder.

“You can come in, you know… Just don’t go trying to hurt us, and we’re cool, okay?” his Friend said, offering up a wide smile, even as one of his hands jabbed at the machine in his hands when a faint red glow appeared. “You liked it when I smiled last night, so, see? A big one, this time.”

**~*~**

Vincent could see Michael’s body tense even further when the rabbit animatronic straightened slowly, only for Springtrap to freeze again. “Mike, cool it…” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, earning a soft snort from the younger Afton –but the visible tension did leave his brother’s body, and in turn, also seemed to lessen its grip on the robot. “Much better.”

After swallowing audibly, Mike shrugged. “Uh, sorry. Haven’t had the best experiences with animatronics in the past…”

The rabbit’s head tilted sharply to one side. “Mmmmiiiiiike… I lllike thaat nnaaammmme…” he said, bars of a broken song warbling from the glitchy voice-box at the same time. “Nnnnone of the otherrrrrssss arrrre a ‘Mike’…”

“Others? What others?”

Resisting the urge to shake his head at his brother’s sharp tone, Vincent elbowed him lightly. “I bet a bunny like him has lots of friends. Just like how Dad did, remember?” Drop a tiny hint, like a cartoon anvil… he was the king of subtlety, wasn’t he? Trying to convey a request for the younger man to be patient through just a nudge and a raised eyebrow wasn’t the simplest of tasks, but thankfully Michael seemed to get the idea and gave another shrug.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” the bandaged brother huffed, adding a short chuckle for good measure, before turning back to the animatronic. “So… interesting name, ‘Springtrap’. What’s it from?”

Pausing with one foot lifted off of the ‘artistically-grimy’ floor, the rabbit blinked slowly. “Frrromm? Whyyyy doesss it haaaave to be ffffrrrrrom annnnythinnnnnng? It-t-t’s my na-a-ame.” A staticy peal of laughter sounded out when the robotic paw came back down. “What-t-t about yours?” Seemingly emboldened by the lack of a negative reaction to stepping further into the office while in full view of the brothers, Springtrap took another stride, bouncing a little as he did so.

“Honestly, I don’t think either of us have a clue. Mikey may’ve been named for bible crap –our mother did have her moments…” Vincent cut in with a shrug, before his brother could push too far too early. “Apparently my boss was the one who came up with it, for this guy,” he added, jabbing a thumb in the robot’s direction.

A robot that had gone still and silent, staring at the youngest occupant of the office…

Shrinking into his chair, Michael cleared his throat loudly and fidgeted with the bandages –one in particular was slowly coming loose under his fingers. “Something up, bunny?”

Springtrap didn’t respond, except for his ears… which looked to be tracking sound in a completely different direction. Noticing that, Mike’s attention was drawn back to the cameras, after glancing around the room with a quizzical grunt.

Left to be the one watching the rabbit, Vincent hummed lowly. “Say, do you like having us as… as friends, Springtrap? I mean, I know you’ve got heaps of pals, but we’re not like most people.”

That snapped the animatronic out of his apparent daze, jerking his head to one side and letting out a soft burst of static that almost sounded like… a purr, of all things. “Vinnnnce isss nnnothinnng liiiike the othhhherrrrrssssss… Maaaybe Mmmiike, toooo…” Those gleaming eyes returned to the younger Afton’s covered face for a few moments, before they fell half-lidded and his mouth opened slightly. “Yesssss… You’rrrrre bothhh mmmyy frrrriennnnnndss.”

Vincent nodded. “Oh, that’s good… Wait, what are you doing?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael’s head jolt back up, just in time to see the rabbit take another couple of steps towards the pair with one hand held out towards them –almost like he wanted to grab hold. Without another word, Mike’s hand slammed down on the ‘audio’ button, and a violent shudder ripped through Springtrap’s body.

The rabbit… keened. Loudly and sharply. A few tense moments later, his head spun around to face the door and he strode out; his voice-box crackled back to life with a song… one that Vincent was sure had been otherwise kept for birthday parties hosted by the old eateries… It took on a whole new meaning when paired with probably-murderous versions of otherwise child-friendly characters.

Beside him, Michael let out a shaky breath. “…Sorry…”

“No… no, it’s fine.” Vincent shook his head, trying to force his own heart to stop thumping so forcefully in his chest. “Doing this slow is probably a good idea… but, you see what I meant?”

“…He’s worse than Lizzy was, that’s for sure… If that is actually him.” Returning his attention back to the cameras, the bandaged brother fell silent for a while. “We have to get a clear answer out of him, though… I’ll do that. I… I already died twice, right?”

He didn’t respond immediately, feeling his heart sink to somewhere near the lower coils of his intestines. “Yeah… yeah, you did…”


End file.
